Thursday, December 20, 2018

Suicide and Sunsets

I had ringworm once.  When I was a young boy, a weird curlicue started showing up on my face.  I was too young for actual acne, so my mother took me to a Doctor. Ringworm.  Treat it with a kind of cream and be very careful with laundry and don’t let anybody touch my face and don’t touch my face myself.  It wasn’t really obvious to others maybe, but it was to me.

I mean to say, other people notice if they look closely and they feel sorry for you.  They feel sympathy, but what can they do? It’s same when you have an obvious physical disability; maybe confined to a wheelchair or are carrying a white cane or missing a leg or arm.  Others feel sympathy and look away, but “it’s not their problem. Eh?”

“How did you get this condition?  What did you do wrong that brought this karma, calamity on yourself?”  “You must’ve done something really wrong, or bad.”  “You earned or deserved this bad thing.”  Which coalesces into “You’re just an inferior person.”  

Everything makes you sad.  A broken butterfly, a dying flower.  A squirrel squashed on the road brings you to tears.  Every minor criticism feels like a slap in the face. Every compliment sounds insincere, “What do they want?” Suspicion of every good thing that happens.  Confrontation brings out the hulk, “FUCK YOU!”  And, you know you are broken.  You have sinned somehow.  You are bad.  You are always wrong.  You are just plain bad!

And, you always will be.

IF we could just fix you.  We being your friends and family.  You being the “broken one”. But, it never seems to work.  All efforts to “fix you” seem to only last a short while, or until you get triggered beyond the capacity of the medication you are made to take, that is supposed to control  your “problem.” Or, the therapy you are made to attend.  

Maybe it was because, when you were eleven years old, you fell off a truck crate, ten feet onto the top of your head.  Onto concrete and broken glass. Or, because your mother drank too much, all the time, and turned from loving to brutal every day of your childhood.  Maybe it was because your first great love killed herself. Or, the time when you were riding your bicycle and an old lady made a left turn, without signaling, at 40 mph and ran over your head.  That was after you took out her left headlight with your skull. Maybe, just maybe, it was because you spent two years in a foreign war that was pointless and the images of that carnage, branded and scorched into your soul, will not let you sleep at night; ever.

All of those incidents were somehow your fault, really.    Nobody cares.  Nobody really cares.  If you were a good person and smarter or maybe some God loved you a little more, none of them would have happened.  Being told every single day that, “Everybody has problems” makes you feel sad, deeply sad, but somehow you don’t quite understand what that is supposed to mean.  It doesn’t take away the fact that you went to war with four friends and you are the only one who came back.

It doesn’t change that memory of your first great love putting a rifle barrel in her mouth and pulling the trigger.  Your child, your six year old son finding her and asking,”What’s wrong with Mommy?” Everybody has problems.  And, you, well you are just weak and a narcissist because you let those things affect you.  

Bad, weak, self-centered!  When are you going to just get over it and get on with your life?  You climbed to the top of the mountain several times.  You even achieved some minor fame, notoriety, several awards in your chosen profession.  You were the One.  And, every time you fucked it up somehow.  

The years ripped by and the bloom was off the rose.  Suddenly you seem to be under the thumb of overbearing bosses, and colleagues who made certain your accomplishments went unnoticed.  The gatekeepers and dreamstompers who held your career in their hands, made certain you went unrecognized and were kept in your place.  You are no longer young and beautiful.  Your experience makes you expensive to keep around.  The shine is off the chrome.  In a moment, an instant, quite suddenly you are irrelevant and expendable.

Any wisdom you may have gleaned from all that you did; all that you did accomplish counts for nothing in the present.  What you may have overcome becomes only a matter of comparative value.  “Other had it worse.”  You’re old. What you know doesn’t count anymore.  History is for whiners and fools.  

All the bad things that happened to you were the result of poor luck or because you were a bit stupid.  The good you did doesn’t matter anymore.

Driving home from my “job” (writing blogs) the other day, I was quite taken with the beautiful winter sunset.  Stunning cloud formations, backlight with a fiery setting sun. This ephemeral nature of one of life’s masterpieces overwhelmed all of my inner struggles.  “Go ahead; kill yourself.” That thought just cracked for a moment and my very damaged old soul quipped, “Fuck you!  You might see me as a failure, as deserving of being left out on the ice.   But, I’m sticking around just to see more of those sunsets.”


Monday, December 10, 2018

Drawing Blind



As it is. “Drawing Blind: Learn to Draw by closing your eyes” is now in print.  Click the link.

I have kept the price quite reasonable … because I am not certain I won’t do some more editing and layout changes.  BECAUSE, even though I have had several readers and editors go over this publication - it still has some “problems” - ARGgh!  BUT, somehow I still like the overall nature of this recent redo.  

I intentionally used “Courier” font, because I fell in love with Courier when I recently wrote a screenplay. It does look like an old typewriter hard-key font. And, I like that.  I mean … why should a finished printed hardcopy book about Art not be an “Art Object” itself?  Why can’t do we have to let computers and top-shelf printers make everything polished to the point of being generic and losing all sense of humanity?  

I don’t have an answer, but I do get tired of everything being perfect, polished and gutless.  This new industry Amazon has set up where anyone can publish a printed book for a minimal investment and have the whole project be “as is” - as long as you fit everything within a lot specs (that part IS frustrating).  But, I t saves a whole lotta trees.  Instead of tons and hundreds of tons of books approved by various “Publishing Houses” sitting on the shelves of Barnes and Noble until they yellow and have to be “recycled”.  What a waste.

And, generally those gatekeepers, critics and dreamstompers are just plain wrong concerning what is good and what actual readers will like and what history will credit.



Wednesday, December 5, 2018

The Invisible Prison of Mental Illness

The Invisible Prison of Mental Illness


In many states, if not most states, if I commit a crime, maybe a serious crime, I can do my time and get paroled.  If I prove that I am rehabilitated and am worthy of re-entering society, I can regain my freedom. Which is not to say, that life will be easy now.  Life for an ex-felon is pretty damn hard, I am sure.

But, I would be an “ex-convict”, meaning I am “no longer” a criminal.  I would face considerable barriers to employment, although this is not supposed to be the case. I am fully aware that it is.

Making a “criminal mistake” can be forgiven, as it were.  For those of us with neurological challenges that have resulted in “breakdowns” , there seems to be no possibility of “parole”.   The ADA laws are supposed to protect citizens with disabilities, however many employment forms make a direct reference to mental illlness.  Or, questions are “shaded” to indicate their possibilities.

The real difference  however, between an actual “crime” and “mental disability”, is that, in most ways, the former criminal can leave the jail walls behind them.  For the neurologically disabled, the prison (cell, jail) walls are carried with us. It is a turtles shell we cannot shed. Invisible, but still there, confining movement; heavy stiff leather clothing that always feels too tight.  

I have heard mental disability described as a “waking nightmare that never stops”.  A nightmare that prevents sleep and fills the waking days with an unappeasable addiction for sleep.  Spiders under the skin, ever spinning webs inside the mind. Centipedes that when cut in half become two and then four and then eight.

During the occasional stretches of time when we can fake normal behavior, the emotional toil is exhausting.  “The world is a stage and we are but players.” What to do when you can never leave the stage, change the costume, remove the make-up, or be pushed aside as a social pariah.  A leper to be avoided.

Continually told to “seek help”.  Appease, ameliorate, medicate. As you are is unacceptable.  You must become like us. You are broken.

That is the prison of mental illness; to know that you are broken and no one will ever accept your flaws, no matter much glue you apply.

Wednesday, October 31, 2018

When Failure Leads to Death

When failure leads to death.

This day in 2018, we are staring oblivion in the face.  Tribal factions all over the planet are in horrible combat, each with others.  Some with ALL others, not they themselves.
It is beyond tragic, because we all will pay.  
Where did it go wrong?  In this country, U.S.A., it began when we went to war against a foe, who wanted one thing only.  And, that was to be left alone to decide their own fate. Which, had no bearing whatsoever on us.  And yet, to war we went because they did not seem to want what WE thought everybody OUGHT to want.
In that misplaced threat, ALL Americans were held accountable.  Mandatory conscription was the law of the land, so ALL American men between the ages of 18 and 25 were required to register with the government AND to “serve” as soldiers if called.
A short period of peace followed the American defeat - yes, America LOST that war.  The last personnel involved leaping into helicopters from the capitals rooftops. Truly like Nazis in the bunkers in Berlin.  Leave or die.
To stay out of that horrible mistake, young men who were in college and maintaining decent grades, were exempted.  That meant that a lot of young men, who were not anxious to die, did their utmost to get into and stay in Higher Learning.  Failure meant death, or probable death (it seemed)(at the time).
During the very brief peace that followed, Mandatory Conscription (the “Draft”) was, step by step, repealed.  Very quickly an over confident culture became lethargic as to their global safety. College, higher learning, became an expensive, very expensive, “treat” appealing only to those with really high ambitions and maybe, those from families with a lot of expendable income.  
The result has been a culture-wide devaluing of “learning” in general, with the mind-widening study of honest history and the Arts dropping nearly out of consideration “et allus in totum”.  As the few with the mental energy to rise have risen, those with lessening mental discipline have fallen lower and lower on the scales of accomplishment and reward.
And, they have become mindlessly resentful of this fall.  They grasp onto many of the concepts recorded history has proven to be fatal.  Racism, religious zealotry, economic persecution, nationalism over basic moral humanism.  And, as history has proven over and over, when the plowshares are beaten into swords, the death toll mounts and mounts until victory equates to one thing - a snake consuming its own tail.  

Wednesday, October 10, 2018

Mental Illnesss Is A Disease?

Mental illness is a disease.

Wikipedia; “In humans, disease is often used more broadly to refer to any condition that causes pain, dysfunction, distress, social problems, or death to the person afflicted, or similar problems for those in contact with the person.”

This has currently been applied to alcoholics, opioid addicts, or anyone falling into the category defined (above) by Wikipedia. Which means, obviously, those of us with neurological conditions are diseased (?).  Seems kind of scary, doesn’t it?

I am beginning to notice a conflict with the term “disability” and references to “diseases”.  Fer instanz - the alcoholism and opioid debate. Why are those two conditions referred to as “diseases” and bipolar disorder is a “disorder”, or a “disability”?  Really? Why isn’t alcoholism a disability and not a disease?

If you have a mental illness (“illness” v. “disease”)(?), how do we make the jump to “disability”?  Neurological disorders can be genetic and/or the result of injury to the cranium. Problems with neurological abnormalities can be the result of environmental pollution, too.  Lead in the water system can lead to retardation, we know this. Medical science has proven the effects of lead poisoning; like 100 years ago this was a known fact. Maybe before that?  

I have begun to refer to my condition, diagnosed as Bipolar plus PTSD, as a disease.  As opposed to a disability. Somehow, to me, it’s easier to feel more “normal” referring to my neurological challenge as a disease.  I mean, I am not really disabled physically. In fact, for my age I am able way above the curve for physical “abilities”. I don’t need, nor do I ever use, a “Handicap parking spot”. Don’t need ramps or Braille or a hearing aid.

Are diabetes and thyroid conditions “disabilities” or diseases?  Well, both are more commonly called “conditions”, medical conditions.  With diabetes we just say “diabetic”. ? … ?? (?).

No! I don’t have answers or solutions to this conundrum.  

Wednesday, October 3, 2018

Days of Hate, Days of Rage

Days of Hate, Days of Rage

Right now in October of 2018, we seem to be living in a historical time of darkness.  There are many undercurrent causes for this.  Each day seems like February in Cleveland, Ohio.  Gray, overcast sludgy skies.  A threat of either rain or, maybe, sleet.  No sunshine breaking through anywhere overhead and no scent of snow.  

If you’ve ever lived anywhere it does snow a lot, you learn to smell a sharp crispness in the air, just before you see, or feel, the first flakes of a new snow.  We do not have that now.  There is more of a foulness on the wind.  A mixture of car exhaust, with a tinge of oily asphalt and dumpsters.  Like behind an abandoned warehouse.

We want to feel better.  We want to say, “Hey, smile.  It’ll get better.  This is just a tough time for everyone.”  And, “The economy is doing great.  Money is flowing.  Fewer people are out of work.”  But then, why are we at each others’ throats all the time.   Why when it seems to be a prosperous time, do so many people feel such inner despair?

Why, when an acquaintance asks, “How are ya?”, is it so painful and feels so hypocritical to simply say, “Great.”  Or, even “I’m good.  I’m Good.” ?  When in your mind you’re really thinking, “Everything is totally fucked up.”  Of course, you can’t do that.  You can’t really say that, or how you are really feeling.

My theory is that this is because our current world as we know it, is hanging just below the sword of Damocles.  And, the tiny thread that holds it, is in the hand of either one idiot or another, every other day.  Massive numbers of people are being shoved from one hell-hole to another.  And the reason these places have become hell-holes is so obviously because of greed or ignorance or bigotry.  Or, all of these plus insanity over issues that are essentially because of one Divine Notion Cult attempting to annihilate another Divine Notion Cult.  Completely oblivious to the millions of people in between.

Destruction and death are the only goals, if these maniacs do not get “their way”.


We all know from history that “trickle down economics” doesn’t work, because the rich love their richness and never let it trickle anywhere.  However, “madness” does trickle down.  It only took one Mad Emperor to bring down four centuries of “The Glory that was Rome”.  It only took one mad Chancellor of one country to bring on a World War that killed millions and millions of people everywhere.  As it is said, “The fish rots from the head.”  This seems to be very obvious.  Especially today.

Monday, September 24, 2018

If you don’t like sewage, stop eating it.

If you don’t like sewage, stop eating it.

I don’t care, it takes sooo good.  Give me a steak anytime.  And BACON - how can you live without bacon?

Let’s take a look at hurricane Florence.  First Florence lost almost all of her wind.  Went from a 5 to a 1 by the time she made landfall.  So shore damage was pretty much .... not much.  But she brought rain and more rain and more rain and flooding and rain and flooding.  That means, of course, catastrophic damage to lives and homes.  Really awful.  Thoughts and prayers.

Now, what have we got?  When the area affected is one of major livestock producing areas in the country; mostly pigs and poultry (chickens), that is ... well, shit (?).  I’ve been a vegan for nearly a half century.  I’m not proselytizing vegetarianism or anti-meat either.  I really could not care less what anybody else eats.  Really could not care less.

But ...

When thousands of acres, most of an entire state is awash in pig and chicken shit, then I care.  I care a lot when giardia (sp) starts sinking into the water table .  When for decades, thousands of acres of woodland will stink like shit ALL THE TIME!  I care.  Then, then... I really DO mind it when "It tastes so good" ,,, etc......

You might bet bacon and nuggets (and BBQ wings WTF-ever), but out the other end, you get shit, and great heaping lots of it, and you gotta get rid of that shit somehow.  When you recycle it into feed and then refeed that feed to the bacon makers, you get "mad cow" and so on.  Or, you shovel it into landfills ... I dunno, but it doesn't just disappear.  Then a massive flood comes and whoopsy-daisey ?? now it's in the schoolyard.  Didn't see that coming' eh?  

Tofu, which can be prepared to taste delicious, is made from soy beans.  If you flood a few thousand acres of soy beans, you get ... maybe spoiled soy beans.  What you don’t get is contaminated water, sickness and disease for years and years.  Flooding can cost millions in spoiled crops in a plant based economy.  Flooding in pig and chicken economy costs that by a factor of ten, not to speak of the tortuous end for all those animals.  

I know most chickens can’t fly and I doubt they float very well either.  Pigs?? Forget it!  I’ve never seen a pig swim, but my guess they about as good at swimming as they are at flying.


The calamities we suffer are all the more egregious when they are the result of the calamities we actually cause.

Tuesday, September 18, 2018

To Our Friends In Russia

I just want to say to the Russian people, “As real Americans, most of us are your friends.  We are sorry you have such an evil oligarch as your leader and we have a thumping idiot for our leader (?)”.   At least your guy has an actual brain, ours seems to be working with a small bag of ingrown hair as cranial material.”

Yours has his crowd of other evil oligarchs and Mafia types, ours has his crowd of slobbering clowns.  So what are we gonna do?  We are all stuck on this slag of planet material, hurtling around a huge radioactive ball of flame.  I mean, really, none of us are gonna get out of this without some mutual effort.  

Much of our population speak only one language and many of us don’t bother to read anything in our own language.  Unless it’s on Social Media.  When I say, “Believe me, it’s always been pretty good living here.  We have two (2) styles of pizza (New York and Chicago).  You’d like it.  But, ya gotta help out and stop taking advantage of those of us who you would like, if we could actually meet.”

Resist Vlad, by helping us resist idiot Don-Don.  Honestly, where will you go if Vlad starts another pogrom?  I mean if these creeps in charge screw up everywhere else, you’re stuck.

Historically, we fought a war together as Allies and defeated the most evil man in history.  We can work together to get rid of these new “bad guys”.  If either one of them wins, we all loose - everywhere.

Monday, September 17, 2018

The Pursuit of Excellence Through Insanity

 The cover of my first ComicBook! The opening page and the back cover.  This book is available in any e-reader format AND hardcopy on Amazon Kindle.
Click Here for the hardcopy - $7.50, e-copy $2.99.

It’s not like ha-ha-ah funny, but it is kinda funny and the issues it deals with are pretty important.  (I think so, anyway).

I am going to just keep pluggin’ along.

There is a time for everything, according to some passage in the Bible, and a season ... and all that. ? ...  And, maybe if you miss the time that is supposed to be your time, you just loose out.  So maybe I just missed my time somehow.

 But, I have been hugely lucky in many ways in my life, wonderful children, great marriage; in the important ways in life - I have been hugely lucky.  As a person with whoah! Depression, I can only get up every morning and plod through each day and try my best to help out in whatever ways I can to make the world, as it were, better.

And, efforts like this comic book, are my way(s) of doing so.

So ... If you are or know of a person with a challenging Mental Health condition and, maybe, can help them in any way, please do so.  And, maybe, can support my efforts by supporting these efforts, with a purchase, please do so.  Send me your email address and I’ll send you the next volume for free.

Okidoke?  Love y’all - as we say in Virginia.

Dale

Saturday, August 18, 2018

Crackin’ Nutz - Page 2

This is the actual 2nd page of this book.
Of course all of the text and graphics are copyrighted by Dale C. Peterson with Kathy Osinski Peterson as his agent.

Copy of any, part, or reproduction and ditribution require written permission by the holders of the Copyrights.

Dalepete55@gmail.com

Crackin’ Nutz (Preface)


Crackin’ Nutz (Introduction)


Crackin’ Nutz (Page 1)

O

Monday, July 30, 2018

Crank’n Nutz - Volume 1 Cover


This is a preview of my latest project.  I have not be able to break through into the consciousness of many people, concerning Mental Health - especially “teachers” - about what it is like to have a Brain Disorder.  In particular, for children.
I will keep at it.  Never give up.  
So I’m going with the ‘Comic Book” format.






Thursday, January 25, 2018

Wealth and Rudeness

Wealth and Rudeness

I’ll just start with how much I truly despise rich people.  For over 50 years I studied and practiced making Art.  I was a paid Artist.  Probably sold over half a million in Art Work over that fifty years.  A lot of it was small things, like coffee cups at $20 or less (mostly less) and I sold thousands and thousands of those.  All handmade.  For nearly twenty years, I made a dozen or more coffee mugs a day, every single day.  And sold them all.  Along with maybe a thousand or more teapots and other table items.

But, I also made hundreds of paintings and pieces of sculpture – high dollar stuff, sold most all of that too.  For those first twenty years out of Art School, that’s all I did; i.e. make Art and sell it.  I raised six children with those wages.

The only problems I ever had were with rich clients and big galleries and businesses.  The Smithsonian Institute was the worst.  They took so long to pay, I almost went to court over that one. 

These super-well off, or famous, entities apparently have so much money (cash) laying around that they tend to believe those of us living really close to the line are kind of irrelevant.  When they put off paying for goods or services and we have to remind them, then we’re irritations, even maybe being rude. 

Then if they decide we’re just being too rude about it, we get stiffed.  If it’s Art work, it can often be returned – and often broken in that process.  I’ve had ceramics pieces just put in a box, without packing to protect it, and when I got it back it was reduced to ruble.  Individual wealthy clients just put it out by the curb, like it’s “recycling” or “garbage”. 

Galleries will put it in back rooms and pile so much other stuff on top that it either breaks or they “can’t find it”. 

I have always been a bit naïve and my work has tended towards the positive and fantasy and the parade, ignoring the road-apples.  Never had much reason or inclination to do Goth, or horror or bloody kind of stuff.  If my stuff was controversial, I went more towards the intellectual controversialist.   At a result, my lack of shock value was minimal and as such I never really received the big rage accolades. 


It doesn’t matter.  I, at age 72, have decided that it is just not worth it anymore.  The heartbreak, the bottom level social appreciation, the enforced poverty.  I’m just done.